


"To The Night"

by Tokenlesbian



Category: Psych
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Angst and Humor, Blood and Injury, Character Turned Into Vampire, F/F, Goths, Human/Vampire Relationship, M/M, POV Multiple, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Vampire Bites, Vampire Shawn, Vampire Turning, ed is just a human though because thats funny, i just love femslash, its a vampire fic yall theres gonna be gore, just warning ya now, slow everything because i literally suck royal ass at pacing, topical humor, vampire adrian, vampire lucien, vampire marlowe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-01
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2019-12-30 17:29:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18319949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tokenlesbian/pseuds/Tokenlesbian
Summary: Marlowe Viccellio is on a mission to find and kill the man that could between her and her Coven's control of Santa Barbra.Carlton Lassiter is hiding from the real cause of his relationship failures in his job.Juliet O'Hara is sick of feeling unsatisfied with her life.Guster can't even get a callback.And Shawn Spencer is busy sticking his nose where it doesn't belong.





	1. Marlowe Viccellio

  


  


She sits towards the back, idly watching the bar scene. They’ve become so consistent to her at this point, that without the different voices and the rain against the small, high windows, she never would’ve know which one she’d wandered into. They all really started to run together, faces and places mixed up into one hell of an existence. A million different exchanges happening at million different times, It'd definitely started losing its luster to her.

But tonight was different. She hadn’t come here on a whim, no, but this time for someone specific. He was roughly 6’2 with deep-set pale blue eyes that gave the impression he never got enough sleep, and dark hair with an irish sort of look to him. Carlton Lassiter, to add a name. Though, names were really only a formality to her human interactions, if she could help it. If interventions were kept to less than a name, it made things easier. And she’d certainly like to keep things simple tonight. 

Then, she saw him stumble in. 

It was just as Adrian had predicted. He came in, sat on the eighth barstool, and made snippy comment to the bartender’s friendly quip,  then loosed his tie. 

Marlowe went in.

She leaned in over Carlton’s side and handed two dollars and a wink to the bartender, who smiled. “I’ll have what he’s having.” Marlowe said. She sat down right next to Carlton, who was visibly off put. “I hope you weren’t saving this stool for someone else” he looks back across the bar, and then to Marlowe again. “Do i know you? Or do you think i’m someone else?” he’s blunt. Marlowe smiles, dodging the question with a smile and toast. “To the night.” he toasts with her, but still confused, speechless. “ _ Well”  _ Marlowe thought  _ “looks like i’m bringing up the small talk tonight”  _ she smiles again, and takes a drink. 

“So Carlton, what’s your story?”

He raises his eyebrow.

“How did you know my name?’ 

_ Shit. she hadn’t meant to say that out loud. _

“I asked you first.” she says, dodging again. This wasn’t her first rodeo. She could handle this.

Carlton is taken aback but replies in a hushed tone over the bars low drone.

“Are you a prostitute?”

_ Waaay off man.  _ She thinks 

“Wh-what? I - no. is that.” Marlowe plays up the desperation. If this was any other night, She would’ve already read his thoughts and cut out the middle man. But he wasn’t nearly drunk enough for that yet, and if she didn’t start trying a little too hard, he might not even have another whiskey at all. “Is that the vibe i’m giving off? Sorry, I guess I’m just a little..”

“Lonely?’ carlton says.

She nods, taking another swing of her drink. She didn’t need to read his mind to hear the honest desperation in his voice. God, Marlowe was almost starting to feel bad for the poor bastard. She’d make sure to attend his funeral. Maybe even bring one of those pineapple flower baskets you can eat. 

Marlowe sighs. “So are you gonna tell me about yourself or not?” 

He looks at her and slams the rest of his drink. “Yep. well, you already know my name, and i come here after work to unwind, since i find my job can be very.. intense.” Marlowe takes the opportunity to read his surface emotions when Carlton pauses. Most folks don’t notice when they have their surface emotions read, unlike with thoughts. Marlowe herself has never had her emotions or thought read before, (since she’s never met another person with the telepathic abilities other than herself) but Lucien and Adrian have told her it’s like hearing someone else repeat your thoughts back to you as you think them. Which most people tend to notice. 

Marlowe sweeps over his emotions. Right now he feels mostly pleasantly surprised and flirty, but there's something she can sense beneath the surface, a long buried, deeply hidden object in his subconscious. She can’t grasp it entirely, but it feels like a type of fear to her, that is also familiar. Interesting. 

“I often dream I’m Clint Eastwood.”

He says

“Even in  _ bloodwork _ ?’ 

Carlton smiles. 

“Mostly  _ heartbreak ridge _ .”

_ She’s got him now.  _ Marlowe thinks.  _ Hook line and sinker. _

Slowly, Marlowe continued to chat him up. He got looser and looser with every drink he took, and started to come apart at the seams. She'd thought about slipping him the roofie she'd hidden in her dress, but when Carlton finished his ninth drink and stared at her for three full minutes without blinking, she decided not to waste her time. “Well, Carlton, I see to have found myself in your company tonight. Would you consider walking me back to my car?” Marlowe asked slyly knowing full and well he'd follow her off a damn cliff at this point. Carlton nodded drunkenly. “Ceertaintly.” He slurred. “Leed yhe way” Marlowe smiled and took his arm. “Excellent. Follow me.” 

  


Thankfully Carlton’s awkward drunken stumble wasn't too erratic for her to manage, as she lead him down a defunct alleyway, supporting well over half his weight. “Wow, youh sure had to pairk faar away hyuh?” Carlton said. “ _ Even in this state”  _ Marlowe thought  _ “you still don't let your guard down.”  _ She smiled and stared deep into his eyes, reading his intoxicated thoughts. He wouldn't notice it at this point.

_ Wowza she's hot.  _

_ I can't believe she's interested in me _

_ Are we there yet?  _

_ Clint Eastwood wasn't in gone with the wind what the fuck  _

_ Did I leave my file cabinets open? _

_ Hnnuhgggg  _

Hmm. Apparently there wasn't much to drunk Carlton Lassiter as initially thought. She picked the conversation back up.

“You do know I meant what I said about your eyes, right?” That was true. Marlowe had never seen anything like them. She didn't even know that humans could have eyes that colorless. Carlton fiddled with his coat. “You have nice eges tuo. They are..” he leaned in to get a closer look and nearly headbutted the asphalt. “Gren. I think they where green. Like a rokc thats also green. Ehats it called again?” Marlowe smiled again. “Do you mean an emerald?” 

“No. The other one.”

Marlowe furrowed her brow. 

“Wh-what other on-”

  


“Moss. Thats iyt.”

  
  


“Right. Anyway, tell me more about your work.” Marlowe chinmed “I'm absolutely  _ dying  _ to know more.”

At about a block away, they arrived at her and Adrian's predetermined drop off point. She'd easily kept Carlton pacified with mindless banter regarding his work, specifically one “psychic” detective he mentioned (or rather, ranted about.) that kept interfering with his investigations. From what Carlton told her, and from what she read off his thoughts, he sounded relatively genuine, and she made a subconscious note to go and look him up after tonight. If he was really as good at this detective business as claimed by (drunk) Carlton, she'd have to eventually punch his ticket too. The last thing Marlowe or the others needed was another Hogarth Boskins, who ended up running the coven out of Pennsylvania back in 31’. But her conversation with him was finally at its end. They'd walked all the way out to the pier but Carlton was so busy talking her never noticed. Looked around and did a double take. “Whait. Why'd you park all the way out here?” Marlowe let out a heavy sigh. She hated this part. She'd just bought this dress. Oh well. Price of the trade.

“Carlton, dear, lean down here real quick and I'll tell you.” Carlton seemed to hesitate. “No, you said you needed someone to walk you to your car.” 

“Well, technically, yes but I've got to kiss you goodbye first. Right? So lean down for me.” Marlowe put on flirtatious grin. “While I prefer taller men, I find them rather difficult to reach. Unless you'd be…

interested in something else.”

Carlton took a step back at Marlowe’s change in attitude. metaphorically and literally. She rolled her eyes. This was starting to wear on her patience. She stepped towards him. “Carlton. At least give me your number so I can call you.” Carlton took a step back and then looked around. They were alone. 

“Carlton. Are you gonna answer me or keep staring like a dead fish.” 

He kept looking around, like a kid desperately trying to remember an answer to a math test they'd _ just  _ forgotten. 

“I- uh. Sure” 

Carlton then made a break for it. 

  



	2. Hot pursuit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> lassies gotta go fast or get got.

Carlton knew, even in this drunken state that something was definitely off when Marlowe lead him out of the bar but decided to ignore it, hoping that for just  _ once  _ his instincts might be wrong. But no, they were right.  _ “Of fucking  _ **_course_ ** _ they were right.”  _ He thought. Whatever this Marlowe chick wanted he wasn't willing to stick around and find out. He was drunk, unarmed, and off duty. And he hoped if he was on the street he thought he was, he could lose her without having to put up a fight. Not that he couldn't handle her, more so that he got the feeling that she wasn't alone. And he wasn't about ignore the sudden, sinking, anxiety welling up in his throat. Carlton made a sharp left and quickly whipped his head back. Marlowe was quite literally riding his ass, hot on his trail. She didn't look armed, but Carlton had learned the hard way as an on duty officer more than once to never assume. He made a right. Then a left, then a right, and then slid over a car hood. But even with very move and zig zag technique in the book, Marlowe kept hot on his heels, completely unphased. “ _ God. What was her deal??”  _ He thought. Finally, the psych office came into view, and Carlton saw a faint light coming from with.  _ “Thank fucking god.”  _ Carlton thought, chest heaving. He took one last look at Marlowe, who didn't seem to have broken and single sweat, and made a sharp left, turned on his heal, and sucker punched her in the jaw as she plowed into him with every bit of Centrifugal force he could muster. 

The moment when his fist collided with Marlowes jaw, a lound crack noise erupted from either his hand or her jaw, and in the heat of the moment he couldn’t tell, and deeply hoped he hadn’t just broken his fingers on some barstool babes face. 

“FUCK!” She shouted, clasping her mouth as she stumbled backwards, and Lassiter made his final dash for the psych office door, his hand screaming at him in lines of white hot pain. He tried the door furiously. Marlowe was still spitting scorching hot curses at him and pushing her jaw in the parking lot, back turned. Lassiter started punching the doorbell, knocking and shouting. After what felt like physical centuries, the was door opened by a very disheveled and sleepy looking Shawn Spencer in a t-shirt and tinkerbell pajama bottoms. “Lassie, it's like, 2 am what are yo-” he didn't get to finish that sentence, because Lassiter lunged in and slammed the door, dead bolting it, and shoving a chair against the doorknob behind him, his hand hanging sorely at his side. “Lassie what the fuck are you doing?” Shawn said, with more annoyance than irritation. Lassiter made an aggressive hand gesture in the universal motion for  _ shut the FUCK up. _ Slowly, Lassiter sat up and peaked between the blinds. 

Marlowe wasn't in sight. 

He put an ear to the door. 

Nothing.

_ Thank god.  _ He let out an audible sigh. Shawn stared him down. “Can I talk now?” Lassiter nodded as his breath started catching up with the rest of him. “Ok, why are you here, who was chasing you, and what the hell happened? You know I'm certainly happy to help a pal out but, gus and I are in the middle of a very important business meeting.” Lassiter took a quick survey off the room. The nights where off and the tv was playing some strange soap opera he didn't recognize. The kitchenette was disorganized and a mess with the cabinets all open, the trash can overflowing, and a bag of cereal literally just  _ out  _ on the floor, and it appeared that guster was passed out on the love seat across the room with a magazine over his face. “I absolutely refuse to believe anything important was happening here.” 

“I'll have you know that the Star Trek marathon on Syfy was actually very important.” Shawn retorted. “I even went out and got special drink cozies.” Lassiter rolled his eyes and headed over to the kitchenette to get a glass of water. Shawn was silent, but his eyes followed Lassiter. He noticed the redress of Carlton’s now slightly swollen knuckles. He put the puzzle pieces together with the little information that had been presented.

“You got mugged didn't you?” He asked, nonchalantly. Lassiter scoffed. “Please Spencer. If a person was to mug me I'd make sure they didn't walk away breathing.” Lassiter shoved some Chinese take out containers off the couch and sat down. Fine. Shawn hadn’t been really sure that was the instance that had occurred anyway. He threw out another line. “Really? Because it looks like you got your ass handed to you.” Lassiter stayed silent. He liked Marlowe. He didn't want to hit her. He'd never really felt a “click” like that with someone before. Just his luck she turned out to be crazy. “I don’t have to stay here and humor you and your game of twenty one questions spencer.” He put down his glass. “Which reminds me, Ive got places to be.” Lassiter stood up before Shawn could protest, and promptly proceeded to fall flat on his face. “Lassie!” Shawn exclaimed. “You're literally insane if you think I'm going to let out back outside like this. You'll get yourself killed! Or arrested. Take your pick.” 

“Spencer.” Lassiter grumbled as Shawn helped him up. “I am finne. Now let me go or I'll make you.” 

“Fat chance. You're staying here. Hang on” Shawn disappeared into a back room. “I'll get you some blankets.” 

Much to Lassiter’s protest, Shawn insisted that he stay at the psych office. Shawn made him up a crude bed on the couch after shaking a very confused Gus awake, who stumbled awkwardly and confused to his car to head home. After that, Shawn brought out a peculiar looking object wrapped in a washcloth. “Here, you big dumb-dumb.” Shawn said. Lasster stared at the package for a second before trying to unwrap it. Shawn stopped him. “No it’s not a present you goober. It’s for your hand. Which from the looks of that swelling I’m sure is broken.”

“Fuck off.” Lassiter spit bitterly. “And it’s not broken because I would know.”

“Are you sure?” Shawn inquired “the spirits are preeeetty sure you busted it up on that goons face.” 

“Yes I’m sur- How did you know that.”

Shawn shrugged innocently. “Know what?” 

“That I got into a fight wi- with some.. thug?” 

Shawn put his index finger to his temple and recalled when he’d woken up shortly before Lassiter banged on the door to go pee and saw the fight from the bathroom window. 

“The spirits see all, Lassiter” 

 

Carlton was currently staring at the ceiling while Shawn's distant snores drifted in from the other room. God. How did he let this happen? He'd banked on the fact that the psychic might be at the office and let him in the heat of moment with Marlowe, but his drunk brain hadn't considered what to do afterwards. And as much as he hated it, Shawn was right.  _ “If you wander back out into the streets now you'll either get arrested or tailed” _ which was pissing him off in massive way. Lassiter tossed and turned on the couch. Why did everything always just go so poorly for him anyway? What had he ever done to deserve that? He'd always carried out the law in the most acute and exact fashion. Every criminal was always punished and never escaped his reach. They were usually shot by that point anyway. 

_ But he'd let Marlowe get away. _

Lassiter could've easily taken her. Hitman training or not, two flicks of the wrist and a shoulder toss and she'd would've been eating asphalt. 

_ But he ran away instead  _

Lassiter always,  _ always _ , chose fight over flight in high stress situations. He was competent. He was the the Santa Barbara police department head detective. Nothing he couldn't have handled. 

_ So why did he make this mistake? _

The thoughts of anguish rolled around in his head while a comically loud snore from Shawn broke his train of thought. How was he supposed to sleep with that racket? Lassiter cursed nobody in particular, rolled over, and covered his ears with a throw pillow.

_ “Maybe I'll just pass out now”  _ He thought bitterly as the room started to fade from pale grey moonlight to black.

  
 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bet yall thought this fic was dead huh? lmao ive got big plans for this shit.   
> so i finally went back and edited this night mare of a chapter and i think i was able to save it, but because i proofread it at like 1 am again, theres some stuff thats just like "tf?" so


	3. Breakfast club reference

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry late christmas everyone! i know i haven't updated in forever but i finally had a free evening the other night so i figured why the hell not. i totally didn't proofread this at all and it was like, 3 am when i finished writing and i had my immortal playing in a seprate tab for movtivation so the quality of this is defo gonna vary.

Sleep did not come to to Lassiter that night, but the alcoholic haze certainly did. In addition to drifting in and out of weird childhood memories morphing into whatever his half-asleep brain was thinking about, Shawn’s aggressive snores set the background music for the recreation of Lassiters childhood spelling bee. At about third period, he heard someone talking in the room that then changed into a terrible cover of some Michael Jackson song, which was then followed by an incredibly familiar smell. Mexican spices, something oil-slick sweet, and.. Booze?  
Finally Lassiters brain woke itself up in the confusion as he remembered where he’d crashed last night. He was at the psych office, and Shawn was standing less than eight feet way, wearing a chintzy-ass pink lace apron, drinking a beer, and frying up god knows what in a skillet on the hotplate.  
Lassiter opened his mouth to speak but Shawn beat him to it, without even moving his head. “Good morning sleeping beauty! Here, taste this.” He then promptly shoved a spatula with something that vaguely resembled an omelet on top towards Lassiter. “Spencer, what the hell is this?” Lassiter eyed the peculiar concoction. The filling was bursting from the insides, which Lassiter could vaguely tell was some kind of breakfast cereal.  
“It’s a breakfast omelette, my own special recipe.” Shawn chirped. “It’s a special delicacy that bust out on the rare occasion of all the time, and I’m wondering if I put in too much egg.”  
“It looks like a sin against god.” Lassiter snipped. “I don’t think I’d eat that if you paid me.”  
Shawn rolled his eyes. “Really?” Shawn took a comical sniff of the spatula, followed by an exaggerated gag. “Oof! Yeah, you’re right. Needs more Budweiser.” He then promptly flung the omelette back into the skillet, doused the pan with the beer from his free hand, and watched as the whole thing caught aflame. Lassiter shouted as the flames spit up, but Shawn hardly flinched.  
“SPENCER WATCH IT.” He managed to sputter. Shawn continued to shake up the pan like nothing particularly terrible had just happened. “Don’t worry!” Shawn retorted “I saw this on Hell’s Kitchen once. It’ll cook out.”  
“THE ALCOHOL ISN'T WHAT I’M CONCERNED ABOUT.” Lassiter scooted back on the couch. “you’re gonna set the place on fire. Don’t you people have smoke alarms?” Shawn just shrugged as he tossed the flaming omelettes in the pan as the flames died down. “Since we’re a private office we aren’t required to have them by the state, and since Gus only bought this camp stove a few months ago, I haven’t bothered. Why don’t you grab some plates, unless you’re keen on eating outta the pan.” Shawn stated rather matter-of-factly. Lassiter’s eyebrow arched, but he got up anyway. Shawn dodged him as he looked through the cabinets.  
“Where do even keep them in this..” Lassiter made a vague gesture towards Shawn’s disastrous attempt at dish storage. “..disaster.”  
“Second cabinet from the left, under the plastic cups.” Shawn replied, smothering the remains of the flame. Lassiter rummaged for a moment though all the plastic novelty cups and mugs, but he finally found two Dora the Explorer plates that appeared semi sanitary.  
“Why on earth would you keep them there?” He inquired.  
“Because it’s closer to the sink and I can just slide them in once I’m done washing them. It’s quite effective, I’d suggest it.”  
Carltons eyes rolled again.  
“That implies the notion that you actually wash dishes, Spencer.”  
Shawn cracked a crooked grin, and dumped the atrocious breakfasts on the plates. “Thanks dad. Eat up.” Carlton shot Shawn a look of true death, but restrained himself from any snide comments as Shawn plopped himself down on the couch, picking up the remote and flicking through tv channels. Carlton remained standing, eyeing the dish in the way one would observe a train wreck. (However calling it a wreck could’ve actually been a compliment) Shawn finally put on some Saturday morning cartoons and chowed down into the omelette. In an attempt to swallow his pride, Carlton took a sizable bite and was immediately punched in the face with every flavor at once. A few of the more notable flavors where fruit loops, sausage, cheese, Doritos, all drowning in cheap beer that he had to fight not to immediately vomit right back up. He gagged regardless, and shot Shawn a look, who was elbows deep in the omelette like it was the most delicious invention since sliced bread.  
“What.. in Christ’s name is in this..” Carlton managed to choke out. Shawn hardly tore his gaze from whatever faceless dribble was playing in the tv before answering plainly. “Every discount breakfast meat the store had, but other than that just some stuff I had around.”  
“Why.” Carlton groaned. “Just why.”  
Shawn then turned his head. “Look if you don’t want it you’re welcome to find something else, just leave it in the fridge for Gus when he inevitably shows up to do paperwork and complain.” His tone was casual and snippy, but not casual enough keep Lassiter from feeling slightly put out about it. “No, no, I’ll-I’ll eat it.” Carlton said in a huff, leaning against the counter. He took another bite, this time prepared for the flavorful assault. He choked down about half before finally giving in to wash it down with three consecutive glasses of milk. Shawn, however, hardly looked away from the television, which carlton had figured out was some show called “invader zim.” Carlton rolled his eyes as he went to clean up his plates.

The second he did however, Shawn hopped up, unprompted, and snatched the dishes from Carlton’s hands. “Oh what, I can’t be a courteous houseguest?” Carlton said curtly. “No, you can’t.” Shawn replied. “At least not with a hemline fracture like that.”  
“My hand isn’t broken Spencer, I would’ve felt it.” Carlton scowled  
“Nah, the spirits are certain of it lassie. I’d recommend heading to the doctors after this.” Shawn said, popping one of the fried up strawberries into his mouth.  
Carlton scoffed, but the numb pain in his knuckle wasn’t very reassuring.  
“Since when have you been qualified to make any sort of medical diagnosis?”  
Shawn hardly missed a beat.  
“Since I started talking to dead people.”  
Carlton said nothing, but started silently wiping down the counter while Shawn washed the dishes. Shawn then started washing faster, snatching the towel from Carltons hands. Carlton then began putting away open chip bags, but not before Shawn could snatch them from him to shove into cabinets. Then, a war of cleaning began as both sides started scrubbing in furious passion. When Carlton got a dish put away Shawn would grab the sponge and go to town on the fridge, but while he’d been distracted, Carlton was organizing the kitchen cabinets.  
“HEY!” Shawn shouted “I HAVE A SYSTEM!”  
“THE HELL YOU DO” Carlton shouted right back. “WHY DOES IT EVEN MATTER? I DON'T EVEN TECHNICALLY LIVE HERE!” Shawn shrieked. in the struggle, he made a pass for a Ghostbusters mug, missed, and slammed Carlton's hand into the cabinet jam.  
There was an unsettling snap, followed by Carlton screaming.  
Shawn froze. “oh fuck-“ Carlton immediately interrupted him, holding out his left hand, which the ring finger of now hung at an awkward and alarming angle. “I think you just broke my hand.”  
“Yeah, yeah, I got that part.” Shawn said, backpedaling. “One minute.” Shawn managed to chuck the rest of the food into the cabinets and pull out an ice pack. “Here, put this one and we’ll go to the doctors. Where’d you park?” Carlton froze. “I.. don’t remember.” Shawn sighed dramatically. “Jesus Christ. Alright, get your jacket, we’ll take my Harley.” Carlton scoffed. “You expect me to ride on that electric bicycle, looking like this? I am not a vain man Spencer, but I have my dignity.”  
“Dude stop being such a wet blanket and come on. Literally who is going to see you.” Shawn said, irritable. “Look, I understand a good aesthetic as much as the next fashion-foreword icon” Shawn flicked his hard back dramatically. “But your finger is literally hanging off your hand right now.”

A few stifled sighs, and Carlton was in the back of office as Shawn shoved a motorcycle helmet onto his head. “It’s not the greatest fit, since the extra helmets I keep around are usually for girls, but it’ll be fine until we get to the hospital.” Shawn said. “Somehow I don’t find that particular comforting.” Lassiter said, cradling his hand in the ice pack, which was now alarmingly numb. Shawn threw on a jacket and helmet, and then onto his motorcycle. He slapped the backseat. “Get in loser we’re going shopping.” Lassiter sighed. “I fail to see how that’s funny at all.” Shawn shrugged. “Takes a man of culture I suppose.” Lassiter said nothing as he awkwardly straddled the seat. “Oh and you might wanna hold on. It’s-“  
“I know how easy it is to fall off a motorcycle goddammit I’ll hold on for dear life if it’ll shut you up long enough to get us to the hospital.” Carlton cut in. Shawn raised an eyebrow, but said nothing and revved the engine, sliding out of the parking lot.  
Admittedly, Carlton actually wasn’t aware of how easy it is to fall off a motorcycle, and when Shawn started off, he rocked backwards. Carltons reflexes responded grabbed by Shawn’s waist, clinging to him tightly. He felt Shawn laugh, to which Carlton hissed out some choice curses his direction, which Shawn either never heard over the engine or just didn’t care, because he was quiet for the rest of the ride.  
Carlton never did let go though.

**Author's Note:**

> because it wasn't really clear in the chapter above, I've moved the dates around a bit for this, moving this initial episode from early season six to like, early season two in the shows timeline. i did that mostly so i could basically rewrite some of my favorite episodes with vampire shawn, and because bapy looking twink shawn from the early seasons would have a much harder time trying to look human over time than season six shawn, where the cast might not question his sudden new eccentricities.


End file.
